Violet Hill
by Mantinas
Summary: It was many years ago, and though the years have not been too kind to me, I remember the night I lost my best friend. Told by Slippy. Contains WolFox.


Violet Hill

Mantineus-Happy October! Song-based-fic from Coldplay. Title of song is also the title of the story.

Disclaimer-I own nothing!

* * *

I remember it, though the years have not been so kind to me; taking the sight from my right eye, my green skin becoming warty and wrinkly, not appealing in the least; but then, I never was a handsome toad to begin with. But I'm rambling, I shall continue. I know no one likes to hear the musings of an old man remembering his youth.

But yes, I remember the night I lost my best friend.

It was early winter on Corneria. Which, as you know, means snow. Such beautiful flakes of frozen water taking a unique shape, flurries of it earlier that day, almost like a tempest out at sea. Almost. No one lost their lives that day. But that night, almost instantly the tides changed and it was falling slowly. Kind of like an angry kid getting his toy back after throwing a tantrum. Sated, yet you know the raging inferno was just a misstep away.

The moon shown down upon us as everyone bundled up in their houses, snug as bugs in rugs. I was amongst them until sometime after eight, and after the incident, I had done extensive research the night after, I had discovered something. It made my blood turn colder than it already was after reading the police report. Being at the top of the government ladder did have its advantages.

Thomas Bisbee, an orange, homeless tabby, had told the officers that he had seen a figure upon a hill on the outskirts of Corneria City, the moon behind it, shadowing its appearance. But it was dragging itself towards the city. It had a limp with one foot(of which either Thomas had forgotten or I have) and carried himself as if in pain.

He was about to offer the poor man a spot by his fire. For he was alone then and wanted someone to talk to, not to mention-figure out what had happened. But he stopped when he had laid eyes upon the actual figure. A lupine of approximately six foot six with spots of grey fur blotting him. He was missing an eye and the other was blood shot and milky pale, the fur below it was matted with blood, making it look like he was continuously crying blood. He panted heavily, the exposed, remaining teeth were caked in the red substance from flecks of crimson that flew out from the completely exposed, skeletal muzzle.

He wore armor, three spikes adorning each shoulder, and one boot. The leg that was bootless revealed bones with sinewy, spider-web muscle tissue.

Fortunately there were no artist renditions; the police had taken him for a drunken bum. But it was my only lead at that point. I received a call from Fox at around eight thirty to join him and our friends at Rusty's, a bar Falco loved.

* * *

The bar's red, neon sign of the place's name and a neon open sign were the only accommodating touches the building had. Everything else about it had an air of hostility and depression in its unkempt appearance. Yet, if a brave soul were to enter the double doors, he would be greeted with a typical bar scene.

Lowlifes hanging around the bar, smoking, talking about one thing or another, the rowdy hustler at the pool tables, and the poor men off of work drinking away their sorrows. Yet, there were the cheerful group in the corner. That was my group; Fox, Falco, Peppy, Bill, and myself.

We drank a lot; the exact quantity is gone from my memory, but I do remember that Fox started to feel edgy after a while. It was not until a few days later that Bill confessed that Fox confided in him about hearing his name being called via whisper. It had gotten so bad that he excused himself and said he 'needed some air'.

We never saw him after that…Oh sure, we looked all around. But Falco insisted that he simply walked off in a drunken haze back home. Being also inebriated, we all agreed, laughing it off.

"He was probably chasing a snow flake!" That was Bill.

"Yeah, wondering aimlessly after a snow flake in a flurry!" Peppy.

"Fox is such a riot!" Falco.

"Yeah!" Myself.

I called Fox's apartment several times the next day, first joking about the snow flake joke. But, after each call, I became more and more worried. Fox liked to answer his calls if he receives a message. After six o'clock P.M., I had a call from Falco.

"Hey, Slips," He greeted me. "Heard anything from Fox?"

"No, Falco. I've tried calling him all day."

"Me too." Falco confessed. "Bill and Peppy just called me and they've said the same thing."

"What should we do?" I asked.

"I'm gonna call Bill and Peppy, meet us at his apartment."

He hung up.

You know…Reliving that moment, when we were laughing at Fox's supposed Snow Flake Hunt, I feel really bad about it now. If I had known what I think I do then, I would have acted differently…Mostly because, if I _am _right, the alcohol would have left my system quicker than it had entered.

But, we will never know for sure.

Anyway, Falco, Bill, and Peppy met me at his Apartment. I admit, I tried knocking before they got there, who wouldn't? It's a little weird if you wait outside someone's door. But, after every knock, I received no entry. No admittance, nor acknowledgement of my knocking from the other side.

I mentioned this to them, and they knocked harder, even shouting his name. It got to the point where everyone became frantic. Falco and Bill broke down the door.

Revealing nothing. Nothing had been touched since last night. The only change was the blinking, red eye on the answering machine. Peppy, perhaps in senility, pressed the play button.

Same story; we all were calling, laughing at him then it gets worried. Peppy, me, Bill, Falco. Usually in that order. Well, we waited a few hours before filing a report; twenty-four hours, you know.

Needless to say, nothing came of it. General Pepper had tried his best as did we, his best friends. But sadly, we could not find any trace of him. But then, three days later, a kid, fourteen, comes out of nowhere and records, on Police cameras, this confession.

I remember it well. Though not word-for-word. I had it secretly saved on my computer for years. It was his eyes…They held regret and fear. They believed them. But me, I connected the dots. Bisbee and this kid…But no one believed me. Falco said I was grasping straws. Peppy and Bill thought the same thing, but said nothing. But I knew.

Our friendship ended some time after this. But enough about that. I want to continue on with my theory. Dwelling on my old friends is getting us nowhere.

Well, you see, this kid, Mark something, a cardinal, over heard people talking in the alley behind the bar. He spied Fox, but the person he was talking to was not visible. Mark described it as a deep, raspy voice that coughed a lot. I actually have the conversation he was talking about recorded. He never mentioned that voice's name. Deep down I knew he was withholding it. It wasn't until I put two and two together that I got the answer, but in due time.

The major part of their conversation went like this, according to Mark, that is.

"Why are you here?" Fox whimpers. "You're…"

"_Every night I hear your prayers._" Came the response. "_If I loved you, show you a sign to let you know._"

"Ohh…" Fox moaned, supposedly he said a name and Mark claimed to not have heard it.

He saw Fox running towards the darker part of the ally. Fox was hidden from his sight for a while before a scream was heard, a _thunk_ following it. Mark saw Fox's head fall on the pavement then being dragged somewhere deep within the dark ally.

The kid ran away. When asked why he said 'The guy knocked _the _Fox McCloud out. What chance did I have?'

Now I bet you're wondering how Bisbee and Mark's stories are interconnected? Well, that's easy. I recognized the description of the man Bisbee saw. And so did Fox. We have faced him so many times over the years that it's hard to forget.

That was Wolf O'Donnell. _The Late _Wolf O'Donnell. He died, back when Fox was missing, one year. Shot down by a stray shot fired by Fox. He was buried as a traitor on Corneria thanks to Fox's 'generous donation'.

But I knew the real story. Falco and Peppy were too far gone in denial, to see it. Fox recorded transmissions from Wolf during dog fights. Stared longingly into the monitor that held his face.

Fox loved Wolf, the killing blow was an accident. And now, as an act of reciprocation, Wolf took Fox.

Scoff at me if you will, but I would be able to prove it, too. But no one granted me the right to exhume the casket and look. Superstitious idiots, all of them. Wanting the dead to remain buried. Bah!

It also didn't help that I had a nightmare the night after Mark's little confession. No, out of _all _the details, _this _is the _only thing _that remains intact over the years!

I dreamt that Fox was in a casket, Wolf laying on his left side, his arms encircling a terrified Fox. Wolf was not moving, like his soul had left his body once more. Fox frantically scratched at the lid until his claws became bloody and raw. He gave up with a whimper. He turned over on his right and stared into the face of the one he loved. He traced a paw from right cheek to muzzle and gently laid a kiss upon the lips he so longed to kiss while they were warm and alive. He did not seem to be disturbed that they were rotten with decay and coated in blood.

He fell asleep, accepting his fate, he made the better of it and died in his sleep.

What I saw next was Wolf standing in darkness, awaiting Fox, his decayed form replaced with his youthful appearance of liveliness. Fox ran to him. They embraced and then, in a flash, they were gone.

I do not know where they went, nor do I know if that _truly _happened or if it was a figment of my tormented mind. But one thing I do believe is; that if you dig up Wolf's casket, you won't just find one corpse, but _two_.


End file.
